"Captain Jordan, Mr. Butterworth has been knocked down by the second mate."
"Oh, has he?" asked Jordan.
"Yes, I have," roared the unfortunate man who had not got his apology out in time to save himself. "Yes, I 'ave, and when we get to Gibraltar I'll 'ave 'im in jail as sure as I'm one of the owners of this vessel."
Jordan was perfectly reckless, and cared nothing by now for any of them. He laughed, and walked on towards his cabin.
"Ain't you goin' to do nothin' about it?" asked Shody.
"Nothin'," said the skipper. "Serves the measly little swine right. I hope Mr. Cade will serve the lot of you the same way before we get to Capetown."
With that shot, which clean hulled them and made them quiver, he went into his cabin and slammed the door upon them.
"There, there, what did I tell you?" wailed Gruddle. "'E's goin' to take us on to Africa, and we can't stop 'im."
The prospect of being shut in a ship with officers who totally refused to recognise that they had any status but passengers was very dreadful, but over and above that there was the question of what would become of the business, with none to attend to it but underpaid clerks who were not allowed to know the dark and secret ways of their employers. And then there was the question of the grub. Shody fairly quailed at the prospect. They turned on poor smitten Butterworth like one man, and if Cade needed any more revenge they gave it him.
"You must go and speak to the skipper, Butterworth," they said in chorus, "you must persuade him to act reasonable."